Darkness of the Soul
by Dawnfire11
Summary: WARNING: The Empty Hearse spoilers. When Sherlock revealed that he wasn't dead, John was hurt, having spent the last two years mourning his friend. But little did he know, Sherlock too was haunted by the two years away, and what happened to him during that time.
1. Chapter 1

**First things first... **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock... blah blah blah. **

**Warning: HUGE SPOILERS FOR SEASON THREE, EPISODE ONE. DO NOT READ BEYOND THIS POINT IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THAT EPISODE. **

**Another warning: Dark themes of torture... **

**Ok... Now that that is over... HOLY HOTCAKES. THAT WAS THE BEST EPISODE EVER. I COULD NOT STOP LAUGHING AND CRYING AND FLAILING AND I CAN'T EVEN... OH MY GOSH... LIKE SERIOUSLY!**

**Anderson was the fandom- freaking out and making theories. Sherlocks parents! Operation and chess! The bonfire scene! Sherlock's crying! OH MY GOD I CANNOT HANDLE...**

***cough* Sorry, sorry. I'm fine. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this story, which goes deeper into the results of Sherlock's time away on his mentality. **

**Note: This takes place in season three episode one, after Sherlock told everyone he was back, but before the bonfire scene. John is still not talking to Sherlock and that is really all you need to know. If you are confused about the time frame, feel free to shoot me a PM or a review and I will do my best to fix the problem. XD**

**Other note: There will be no slash. There will be Jary (John/Marry). **

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Chapter 1:

_Running... running... running... The trees around him were closing in, the darkness pressing down on his body, the air rushing in and out of his lungs, making him gasp. Shouting in the distance, lights flashing in front of him, the sound of helicopter blades above. His feet pounded against the ground, crunching through the leaves, the snapping of twigs echoing like gunshots through the forest. _

_Just a little longer, he knew. But suddenly, he was falling, face slamming into the dirt, the air rushing from his lungs. He struggled to climb back to his feet, pushing himself to his knees, his bloody hands scrabbling against the ground. _

_More voices. Shouting. The sound of gunshots. Flashes of red. Pain. _

Sherlock jolted awake with a gasp, eyes flying open. He lay on his bed, trembling, feeling the cold air from the vent above him brushing over his face.

They were getting worse.

It had started with just a few images, images of the faces he could remember from his time... away. But now...

He pushed himself upright, rubbing the back of his hand across his face. He looked at the clock, the red block numbers blinking back at him. 5:38 am. No point in going back to sleep now, he thought to himself, getting up and throwing his robe on over his shoulders.

XXXXX

_Later that morning... _

"...Sherlock? Sherlock, dear... the inspector is here to see you..."

Sherlock didn't look up, his fingers aimlessly plucking at his violin strings, fingers landing on the fingerboard in random patterns.

"Sherlock?"

The consulting detective finally glanced over at Mrs. Hudson, his fingers still tapping at the violin. "What?" he asked her.

Mrs. Hudson gave him a strange look, pulling her pink wool sweater tighter over her shoulders. "The inspector is here... something about a case, he said," she responded. "Should I let him up?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, setting his instrument down and standing up from the couch, grabbing his coat from the armchair... John's armchair. He felt a pang shoot through his chest and he frowned._ Emotions... stupid_, he thought to himself. He would have to deal with those later.

The door creaked open and Lestrade stepped in, his hands clutched around a manila folder. The man looked unkempt, his white shirt wrinkled and his face gaunt.

"Mrs. Hudson said you had a case," Sherlock said to break the silence.

"Yes... Well... maybe.." Lestrade said, looking down at his shoes, unable to meet the consulting detective's cold stare.

"What do you mean, maybe?" Sherlock snapped. "You either have something you need help with or you don't."

"I... I didn't know if you wanted to take any more cases... I mean... It will be your first one since... well, you know..." Lestrade said choppily.

"Of course I want to take your cases," Sherlock responded. "No matter how boring or useless they are. Let me just go tell J..."

Sherlock stopped himself, swallowing. Lestrade gave him a look of sympathy that turned his insides. He _hated _that look, as if there was something wrong with him, as if he couldn't care for himself.

"Never mind," Sherlock growled. "What's the address? I'll meet you there…"

Lestrade handed him a slip of paper before exiting the room, looking back one last time at the consulting detective as the door closed.

XXXXX

_Some time later... _

John looked up from his paper as the sound of knocking filled the flat. He let out a small sigh, climbing to his feet and going to the door, unbolting it with fumbling fingers.

"Lestrade," John said, a small hint of surprise in his voice. "I wasn't expecting you. Come in, come in."

The DI complied, stepping into the warm little flat, glancing around. The sitting room was clean, the red curtains thrown open, sunlight spilling in the room. A vase of yellow flowers stood on the coffee table, their bright petals bringing a splash of color to the room.

"Listen, John... we need to talk," Lestrade began.

John could hear the tension in the DI's voice, his thoughts racing. "Sure, sit down. You can tell me anything," he said. He knew the inspector had been having problems with his wife, so he assumed that is what Lestrade wanted to discuss.

Lestrade took a seat on the couch, leaning back into the cushions and taking a breath. "It's... it's about Sherlock..."

John visibly winced, fingers picking aimlessly at a loose thread on his jumper. "I don't want to talk about him." His voice was devoid of emotion, sending a small shiver down Lestrade's spine.

"John, he isn't doing well," Lestrade said, his tone almost begging.

John just shook his head. "I... I can't see him right now, Lestrade. He let me think he was dead for _two years. Two full years! _And then he thought it would be funny to 'surprise' me when he came back. He made it a joke.. I don't.." He said, but Lestrade interrupted him.

"Listen to yourself, John. He was your best friend. Yes, you have the right to be mad, but he needs you now. You should have seen him today... He brought along Molly, but he kept making strange comments to someone that wasn't there..."

"What..." John swallowed, his mouth feeling dry. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure…," Lestrade commented. "Listen, will you just stop by Baker Street sometime and talk to him?"

"I'll think about it," John said.

**TBC**

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**A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Also, special thanks to Hatakefire for her help. I don't know what I would do without you! XD **

** I would love it if you would leave me a review. ****I have a strong desire to improve my writing and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.**

**The next chapter should be up fairly soon! **

**-Dawn **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey guys! Thank you so much for all of the positive feedback! I'm so glad you all enjoy the story. **

**SPOILERS FOR SEASON THREE EPISODE TWO: Oh my gosh, I've never been that happy and sad at the same time. Sherlock's best man speech... the time he and John got drunk (LOL)... him making the whole room cry and then wondering what he did wrong... and the end of that episode... when he left because no one was dancing with him... my heart just shattered. Broke. Everywhere.**

**I hope you all are enjoying the new season as much as I am... XD **

**Here is the next chapter!**

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Chapter 2:

_Sometime after the bonfire... _

_Fire… heat… flames licking at his hands, biting through his gloves, biting at the skin of his exposed wrists. Smoke rising into his face, making his lungs ache and his vision blur. _

_John screaming, begging, pleading. "Sherlock, let me out! Help me, please!" The sound of children wailing echoing around them. _

_"John!" he coughed. "John!" He couldn't see through the thick smoke, pulling the burning wood away, his heart pounding. He saw a hand, a quick flash of pale skin through the smoke. _

_"John!" Sherlock called. _

_The smell of burning flesh…. the heat from the fire making sweat drip down his face. _

_He finally managed to pull the body from the flames… John's face… barely recognizable, white bone visible in the black skin…._

Sherlock shot up in his bed, sides heaving as he struggled for breath. He closed his eyes, the sight of John's burned body still vivid in his mind. Hands trembling, he pulled his phone off the bedside table, clicking the little circular button.

The screen lit up, illuminating his face and making him blink. Without thinking, he scrolled through his contacts until he reached a name…. John…

_Don't be stupid, _he told himself, throwing the phone onto the bed and standing up, legs a bit unsteady as he stumbled into the bathroom. _John doesn't care anymore…. He made it quite clear…_

Sherlock flipped on the light, illuminating the room and making him wince, his head pounding. He turned on the tap, letting cool water run over his hands.

This couldn't continue.

XXXXX

John had decided not to visit Sherlock. He really had. But then... the bonfire... seeing Sherlock again…

The doctor walked down the empty street, his heart beating a little faster as he stepped up to the blue door, the gold numbers on the door glinting. He took a shaky breath and then unlocked the door, stepping into the flat to see Sherlock, standing on the couch facing the wall.

He was about to say something when he noticed the elderly couple. "Oh, you're busy," the blogger said.

"No no no no, they were just leaving," Sherlock said quickly, pushing the two people from the room.

"If you've got a case…" John said.

"No, no case," Sherlock replied, still herding the two from the room.

John turned his back on them for a moment, taking in the sight of his old flat. It was dust free now, the curtains thrown open to let the light spill in. He smiled as he saw the wall, covered in papers.

"Sorry about that," Sherlock said after he slammed the door, turning to John. The consulting detective took a breath, taking in every detail of John's appearance.

_Happily engaged, no mustache (thank god), had waffles for breakfast._

"Friends of yours?" John asked softly.

"Just my parents," Sherlock responded.

John stared at Sherlock for a second, wondering if the man was joking. Then he rushed to the window, trying to catch one last glimpse of them as they walked down the street.

"Those were your parents?" he asked. "But… I mean… just… they were so…. Ordinary."

"It's a cross I have to bear," Sherlock said, his mouth tilting up in a small smile. The consulting detective let out a little breath. Things were going back to normal.

XXXXX

It was several weeks after the train incident- that is what John had taken to calling it, despite Sherlock's protests. John and Mary were a happy couple, the wedding only a few months away.

Sherlock was back to solving cases for Lestrade, pounding on John's door at odd hours of the morning, dragging him off to crime scenes and out to lunch and on wild criminal chases. John had even started blogging again, writing out a few more of Sherlock's adventures.

Now, Sherlock, John and Lestrade stood around the body laying face up on the blue rug, her brown hair fanned out behind her head, her glassy eyes staring up, an expression of pain and fear on her face.

Sherlock was kneeling by the body, his eyes flickering back and forth as he took in the purple bruises around her neck, the blood pooling behind her head, dark brown stains on the rug. He looked up at Lestrade and back down at the body.

"What makes her different?" Sherlock asked.

"What?" Lestrade asked, giving the consulting detective a look of confusion.

"What makes her different?" Sherlock repeated. "You only call me in for cases that you can't solve yourself, the ones that make no sense to idiots like you."

Lestrade let the comment slide. "There was no sign of a break in, no sign of any of her family, no sign of DNA from the murderer. It's almost as if she just dropped dead…"

Sherlock let out a little sigh, rolling his eyes. "Of course you would think that," he muttered. "It's just so _obvious_."

"Well I don't see it," John said.

"She was happily married but had no children, her husband, who was away on a business trip, had recently gotten a divorce, only a few months before their wedding, which was a complete disaster due to the fact that he invited his ex wife to the wedding. But that was a long time ago, everyone seeming to move on. Everyone, except the ex wife, furious with her husband and his new wife. So, using the key that she still had, she walked in and killed her. Simple," Sherlock said.

"How on earth did you figure all of that out?" Lestrade asked.

"I _looked," _Sherlock responded. He stood up quickly, alarmed for a moment as darkness flooded the edges of his vision, the world spinning around him.

His knees nearly gave out, his hand gripping the wall and his eyes squeezing shut.

"Sherlock?" He heard the blogger's voice as if through a tunnel. "Hey mate, are you okay?"

Sherlock took a deep breath and opened his eyes, giving John a glare. "Fine," he snapped.

But John knew better. He could see Sherlock's pale face, dark purple bags under his icy eyes, the slight tremor of his hands almost imperceptible as he pulled his coat collar up.

"No, you don't look fine," John said. "You look like you're about to fall over… Sit down…" John tried to pull the consulting detective over to the couch, but the man pulled away.

"I'm fine," he snapped. He slammed the door behind him as he exited the flat, leaving John and Lestrade standing in shocked silence.

"He didn't look good at all," Lestrade said.

"I'll check up on him," John said. "Has he done anything else…?"

"No, I thought he was getting better…" Lestrade said.

"I'll check up on him…" John said, pulling out his phone and dialing.

"Hello?" a woman's voice.

"Hey, Mary… Listen, I'm going to be home a little later than I said," John said.

"What's wrong?" Mary asked, sounding worried. "Is everything okay?"

"It's… Sherlock," John said after a pause. "He seemed fine, but then he almost passed out at the crime scene… I have to go and check up on him…"

"You take all the time you need," Mary responded. "Our date can wait. Tell Sherlock I said hi. Love you…"

XXXXX

John opened the blue door, letting the familiar feeling of his old flat wash over him. Mrs. Hudson was baking, the smell of pastries wafting through the air. The sound of a violin reached his ears, the bow scraping across the string, random sour notes making John wince.

He knew that meant Sherlock was irritated, wondering if he should just leave and let the man cool off for a few moments. But he remembered the pale color of Sherlock's face and he dashed up the stairs, opening the door.

Sherlock sat on the sofa, staring at the wall, his violin held to his chin. He glanced over at John, his bow faltering and the screeching notes coming to a halt.

"Sherlock…" John said. He suddenly wished he had planned what he was going to say, his mind at a blank as he stared at the consulting detective.

"What do you want, John?" Sherlock mumbled. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Of course you are," John said, rolling his eyes. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay… You really didn't look that well…"

Sherlock set down the violin. "I. Am. Fine." His voice was a snarl, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Now go _away."_

"Sherlock, you are not 'fine'! The entirety of Scotland Yard can see it! Look in the mirror, Sherlock, and make a bloody deduction! You've got bags under your eyes, you're obviously not sleeping well, you look thin and tired, you almost passed out! That is not fine!"

"John. _Leave. Now." _Sherlock's words were like a whip, cutting through John's chest.

"Fine. I'll leave, Sherlock," John snapped, spinning on his heel and striding down the stairs, the door slamming behind him.

Sherlock slumped back against the couch, closing his eyes and clutching his pounding head with his hands. He suddenly wished that John would come back, but he shook the feeling off.

_Sentiment... Boring. _

It was better if John stayed out of this.

**TBC**

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**A/N: Oh no... Sherlock doesn't seem to be doing very well. Will John figure out what is wrong with him? XD **

**Thanks again for reading, as always reviews are greatly appreciated. **

**-Dawn**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry for the slight delay. Life has been busy as usual! **

**We are two weeks into the hiatus. How are you guys holding up? Do I need to pass out the shock blankets? Should we all have an online crying fest as we wait for Sherlock to return? **

**DID YOU GUYS LIKE HIS LAST VOW? I mean, can we talk about plot twist at the end? WHAT THE HECK! Ok I'll stop fangirling now and get to the story. **

**Anyways, here we are! **

**Warning: Dark themes. Spoilers for the Empty Hearse. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or Doctor Who. (There is a brief mention of it... can you find where?)**

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Chapter 3:

_"Tell me why you're here," the man said in serbian, snarling past his clenched teeth. _

_Sherlock couldn't reply, blood dripping from his lips. His shoulders burned with pain as he struggled against the chains binding him to the walls. _

_Another explosion of agony ripped through him as the metal rod connected with his side, tearing skin and crunching the bone underneath. He couldn't keep silent, a moan from escaping his mouth. _

_Colors blurred together and everything was loud. His cries echoed in his own ears as he struggled to get away. _

_"We will find John and we will kill him," his captor said. Sherlock looked up in fright, only to see the face of Moriarty staring back at him, a grin spread across his lips. His black hair was smoothed back from his pale face. Red blood dripped from a bullet hole in the back of Moriarty's skull, running down his neck and dripping onto Sherlock's face as he bent over him. His stance was relaxed, his expression bored as he studied the detective. _

_"Oh but that's right… You chased him away, too scared to show a sign of weakness. That wasn't very nice," Moriarty crowed. "He doesn't care anymore. He won't come back." _

_"Stop it," Sherlock moaned. "Please…"_

_The colors blurred again and now Sherlock was standing upright, on the roof of the hospital, staring down at the ground, watching John's figure standing at a distance. _

_"Sherlock!" _

_The shout tore through his body, but it was too late. He was already falling towards the ground. But this time, there was nothing to catch him at the bottom, no plan, no way to survive. _

_He hit the ground. _

Sherlock let out a cry as he sat up, his hands flying outwards as if to break his fall. He couldn't see for a moment, his heart pounding and his head reeling.

He glanced at the clock on the desk. 11:30.

He still had time to go back to sleep… but he didn't want to. He could still feel the warm blood on his face, and he scrubbed his cheeks furiously, trying to erase the memory from his mind.

XXXXX

"...and then he just told me to go away. He snapped at me, Mary. Can you believe that? After all he has put me through, now he decides to make it worse and push me away," John said.

Mary snuggled closer to him on the couch, looking up into his face. "He sounds like he needs your help," Mary said. John studied her face, her blonde hair shining in the morning sunshine coming in through the window. She was beautiful.

"I offered him my help," John responded, his hands itching to run through her hair and down her face. "But he pushed me away."

"John…" Mary said, her hand resting on his leg. "You know I love you… But I want to ask you something… You said that he made you go through all of this stuff over the last few years, but do you have any idea what Sherlock went through while he was away?"

"Yeah… remember? He hunted down Moriarty's men…." John replied.

"But John, did he give you details? Do you actually know what happened?" Mary asked.

John let out a breath, his heart falling in his chest. His vision blurred slightly as he realized. Sherlock hadn't told him anything about his time away… at all. "Oh my god," he muttered.

Mary looked at him pointedly and John sat up, pushing her gently off him and standing up. "I have to go…" he said, throwing his coat on.

XXXXX

Sherlock was still sitting on the couch when the sun rose, staring at the television screen. He didn't bother getting up as he heard Mrs. Hudson bustling downstairs. He just sat and stared as reruns of Doctor Who flashed across the screen.

His phone vibrated against his leg, making him jump out of his stupor, pressing it to his ear.

"Sherlock Holmes," he said.

"Hey, Sherlock. We have another case if you're up to it…" Lestrade sounded hesitant.

"For the last time, I'm not a child. I can take care of myself," Sherlock snapped. "Whats the address?"

Lestrade told him and Sherlock stood up, stumbling his way down the stairs. He made it to the door and out into the street just as John walked up.

"Sherlock!" John said. "I…."

"Good, I was just about to call," Sherlock said. "We have another case."

"But…" John began. Sherlock paid no attention, already walking down the street. John had to jog to catch up with him.

XXXXX

They made it to the crime scene, Sherlock jumping out of the cab and stepping up to the yellow caution tape. Lestrade was waiting, tapping his foot nervously against the asphalt. The lines of worry fell of his face when he spotted the two men coming up towards him.

"Sherlock! John! I was wondering when you would get here…." he said, turning and leading them into the old building.

Sherlock's heart sped up as he stepped into the darkness, the stone walls pressing in on either side of him.

_"Tell me why you have come and then you can sleep." _The voice echoed in his mind, making him freeze and clench his hands into fists. He couldn't afford this now!

"Sherlock? You're blocking the door, mate..."

John's voice made him jump imperceptibly, stepping forwards to the body, which was lying face down. Blood pooled on the concrete by the victim's head.

_He could feel the cold metal chains around his wrists, a trail of warm blood running down his forehead. His vision blurred as…_

"...Sherlock?"

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he brushed it off, taking a step forwards, kneeling next to the body. His knees were trembling slightly and he placed one hand on the floor, trying to steady the tremors.

_Focus on the case, _his mind snarled at him. _Nothing else matters. The body is just transport. _

But he couldn't shake the images off.

_Warm air tickled the side of his face and he clenched his eyes shut. "Who are you?" his captor said, the sound of his voice echoing around him, making spikes of pain jolt through his skull. _

_"All you have to do is tell me your name. Then it will stop," the man said. "The pain will end."_

_Sherlock didn't answer, and he felt the sting of a whip on his back, crying out as the leather bit into his skin. _

_Pain. Pain. Pain. PAIN._

_He should just give up... Just tell them everything. _

_No! John. John. John. John. John..._

**TBC**

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**A/N: There it is! I am not entirely pleased with this chapter, but that's alright. **

**Do any of you have a Tumblr? I got one a few weeks ago and I am looking for people to follow/followers. If you want a link to my blog, just ask me in a review or a PM and I will give it to you. Tumblr is so addictive LOL**

**Please review and tell me your thoughts. XD **

**-Dawn**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Here is another chapter! I hope you all enjoy! XD**

**Warning: Dark themes. Possible triggers. Descriptions of torture. PTSD and stuff. A curse word or two... This chapter is really dark... I apologize in advance. *wraps reader in a bear hug***

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock...**

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Chapter 4: 

John stood off to the side, watching as Sherlock knelt next to the body. The consulting detective was completely silent, his body unmoving, his head turned downwards. John couldn't see his friend's face in the shadows, but he could make out a slight tremble of the man's shoulders.

"Sherlock?" the blogger asked, his voice echoing off the stone walls. There was no response.

Sherlock could hear John's voice as if from a distance, calling to him through a long tunnel, echoing off the walls of his mind and sending small stabs of pain into his brain. He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm his thoughts, trying to get a hold on his trembling, betraying transport.

_You. Are. Fine. _His mind screamed at him. _You are with John. You are safe. _

_He could feel the cold chains biting into his wrists, could feel the warm trickle of blood down the side of his head as he scrambled to get away. _

_No! Control. Control. Mycroft's voice echoed in his skull. See, Sherlock? Caring is never an advantage. This is what happens when you get close to someone. _

_The hollow thud of a metal pipe smashing into soft flesh brought him back, receding into his mind, a place where John could not follow. He cried out, the sound echoing around the dark cell. Someone shouted at him in serbian. He tried to answer, wanting to tell them anything, anything that would get them to stop. _

_Please. Please. _

_John._

He pulled himself from the memory, feeling his whole body shudder with the effort.

"I..." he said, his breath coming in small pants.

He turned and fled from the room.

XXXXX

A warm hand fell on John's shoulder and he glanced back, seeing Lestrade.

"What...?" the DI couldn't finish his sentence, swallowing thickly and clearing his throat.

John didn't respond, stepping closer to Sherlock and kneeling down. The only thing between them now was the figure lying on the floor and a pool of red blood on the cold concrete.

He still couldn't see Sherlock's face but he could now make out the rapid rise and fall of Sherlock's chest.

"Sherlock..." John repeated. "Sherlock, can you look at me?"

There was no response and John's heart rose into his throat, making it hard to breathe. Suddenly, the detective cried out, hands scrabbling on the ground as he pushed himself away from John.

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed, resisting the urge to rush forwards.

"Please."

The word was whispered so softly that John almost missed it. His blood was ice in his veins, making his breath freeze in his chest.

Lestrade made a move to step forwards, but John held up a hand, laying it on the DI's shoulder and stopping him firmly.

"Sherlock, what's wrong? What's going on?" John said, taking a small step forwards.

"Please. Stop... I'll tell you what you want... Please just stop."

John froze in his tracks, his foot hovering over the ground, his toe brushing the floor. There was no movement in the room, everything still, as if balancing on the edge of a cliff.

"Sherlock?" John asked.

The younger man seemed to jolt forwards, his whole body trembling. He tried to say something, looking John straight in the eyes.

John could see a slight film of tears in the detective's eyes and he took a step forwards. But before he could reach his friend, Sherlock bolted from the room, his coat tail swishing behind him.

Lestrade watched him go, turning to look at John. He didn't have to say anything, his head giving a small nod to the blogger.

John turned and followed Sherlock at a run, not waiting to see if the DI followed.

XXXXX

John walked up the steps of 221B, not hesitating at the door, swinging it open and stepping into the room.

Sherlock was sitting on the couch, his violin in his hands, his finger's stroking the cool wood of the scroll. John noted Sherlock's tense muscles, his breath still uneven and his blue-green eyes slightly clouded with pain.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock snapped. The voice made John jump back a step, Sherlock's eyes boring holes into his skull.

"What do you mean? I'm here to check on you, Sherlock..." John said.

"Check on me?" Sherlock responded, his voice clipped and emotionless. "I can assure you that I am perfectly fine... Now go and have dinner with your friends or do whatever normal people..."

Sherlock stopped, his hand going lax and the violin falling to the floor, clattering onto the carpet. Sherlock made no move to pick it up, his eyes clenching shut. He took a shuddering breath through his nose, his hands going to either side of his head.

"Sherlock!" John shouted, rushing forwards.

"I'm fine..." Sherlock snarled through his teeth.

"No, don't give me that_ shit_. You are obviously not fine, Sherlock..." John said. "Please just tell me what's wrong."

"Can't... breathe.. chest...," Sherlock finally said, his eyes opening and looking straight into John's own.

John had never seen his friend look so afraid, so vulnerable. His brain rushed through a list of possible medical conditions, and he didn't take long to deduce what was wrong.

"Ok Sherlock, I want you to lay down for me, yeah?" He asked. "Just straight back onto the couch..."

Sherlock didn't answer him and John reached forwards, gently resting his palms on either side of the consulting detective's hands. He pulled Sherlock's hands down and the younger man opened his clouded eyes in confusion.

"Wha'sappening?" He slurred as John pushed him back onto the couch.

"Don't speak," John said. "Just breath. You're having a panic attack."

"Not..." The word was mumbled as Sherlock's breath came faster. "I'm not... not.. not.." Sherlock's eyes were wide and his face paled.

"Sherlock... calm down. You are okay... you just need to breathe properly..." John said. He grabbed one of Sherlock's trembling hands, placing it on his chest and taking a deep, slow breath. "Breathe with me, Sherlock..."

Sherlock tried taking a deep breath, but the air caught in his throat, making him cough and gasp. "Can't," he blurted.

"Yes you can. Sherlock, you are a bloody genius," John said. "I have complete faith in you."

It took several minutes before the consulting detective's breath evened out, his tremors dying down to the occasional shiver.

Sherlock sat up, leaning back against the couch and closing his eyes. He could still feel a sense of fear, could still feel panic dancing through his chest.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" John asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "No..."

"Sherlock, please... You need to tell me what's going on so I can help you... None of this will get better unless you talk to someone about it... I would know..." John responded.

Sherlock opened his eyes, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his clammy hand. "I.. I can't right now."

Sherlock hated how weak he sounded, how useless and childish. But he couldn't stop the tears that prickled behind his eyes.

"You can go now, John," Sherlock said. He just wanted to be alone, to collect himself in peace.

John just shook his head. "If you think I would leave you alone right now, you must be stupid," John said. "I think you should come stay with Mary and I for a little while."

Sherlock looked up at John hurriedly, shaking his head. "I can't do that..." he said.

"Yes you can and you will. You can sleep on the couch... I don't want you to have to go through this... whatever this is... alone, Sherlock. If you won't come live with us for a bit, I may have to call Mycroft and tell him what has been going on."

"No," Sherlock said. "Don't."

"Ok then," John said. "Go pack a bag."

"Right now?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes," John responded. "I will wait here."

Without another word, Sherlock walked from the room, going through the hallway and into his room, shutting the door behind him.

John watched his old flatmate go, unable to shake off the nagging worry. Before, Sherlock would have argued, would have protested at leaving 221B with everything he had. Now... Sherlock had just accepted it.

Something horrible had happened to Sherlock in the two years he was away. John was sure of it.

He just hoped he wasn't too late to help his friend.

XXXXX

John slipped the key into the keyhole, the lock clicking open. He pushed the door open, holding it wide and gesturing for Sherlock to come it.

The sitting room of John's new flat was comfortable. Sherlock noted the wallpaper, the style similar to that of Baker Street's own. A red couch sat in the middle of the room, facing a large television. The DVD player was on, bright numbers flashing over and over again, making Sherlock's head ache.

"You sit here," John said, waving one hand at the couch. "Let me go talk to Mary."

John walked down his narrow hallway and into the bedroom, shutting the door softly behind him. Mary was sitting on the bed, her tablet resting in her small hands. She looked up with a smile.

"Hey," she said.

"Hi..." John responded, not sure how to continue. "Mary... I know I should have called to ask you this, but I offered Sherlock a place to stay for a bit..."

Mary looked at her lover for a long moment, noting the worry lines on his forehead. "What happened?" she asked.

"Sherlock had..." John had to clear his throat, feeling as if he had tried to swallow an apple whole, a lump in his throat making it hard to breathe. "He had a panic attack, Mary... Sherlock Holmes. The sociopath. One moment he was studying a dead body, the next he was running out of the room, unable to breathe. I don't know what's wrong with him and he wont tell me."

Mary placed a hand on John's face, leaning forward and pressing her lips to his. After a moment, she pulled away. "Of course he can stay here," Mary said. "Of course he can."

XXXXX

_"Did you really think you could trick me?" the man asked in serbian. "You will have to be punished for this..."_

_Sherlock tried to move away from his captor, his hands bound again, stretched out to expose his naked back to his torturer. A cool breeze brushed over his skin, making him tremble. Warm fingers pressed to the side of his face, turning it upwards. _

_"Look at me, you filthy piece of..."_

_Whatever the man said was lost on Sherlock as pain exploded through him, tearing his insides apart like a lion ripping into a fresh kill. He couldn't see what was happening. He only knew that it hurt. Hurt more than anything he had ever felt before. _

_"Please," he breathed out. "Please!"_

**TBC**

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**A/N: That chapter took me forever to write... I just couldn't seem to get the characters right... And I was trying to make the chapter a little longer for the person that requested longer chapters. I can't quite remember who it was... but I hope I pleased you LOL. **

**Please do me a favor and leave me a review. I really love to hear your thoughts and suggestions for the future. XD **

**Thank you so much for reading! Have a great week! **

**-Dawn **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey everyone! I love you all so very much! Thank you for the kind reviews to the last chapter. You all were very impatient for an update, but that is a good thing! It gave me writing inspiration! XD **

**Here is the next chapter! **

**Warning: Possible triggers. Panic and nightmares... PTSD **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. **

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Chapter 5: 

John wasn't sure what woke him at first. The darkness pressed down on him, the only source of light coming from the clock on his bedside table, red numbers blinking at him innocently. His hand drifted to the side, fingertips brushing Mary's warm, soft skin. She was breathing peacefully, lying facing away from him.

He let his eyes close, Mary's steady breathing lulling him back to sleep.

Several minutes later, he jolted awake again, this time nearly falling off the bed as he sat up. Another scream echoed off the walls, making his heart pound and his breath catch in his throat.

_Sherlock. _

He bolted from his bed, flying out of the room and into the darkened sitting room beyond.

Sherlock was writhing on the couch, his feet pinned together, tangled up by the blanket. His hands scrabbled against the couch's red fabric, as if searching for something, some means of protection against the invisible foe he was facing. He let out a moan, breath coming in huge gasps, sweat beading on his face and dripping into his curls.

John wasted no time, throwing himself to the ground next to the consulting detective's head.

"Sherlock," he said loudly. "Sherlock, wake up!"

The man let out another scream, shifting away from John's comforting voice, as if it were the cause of the pain.

John knew if he touched the dreaming man, he risked startling the detective, but he could see no other option. He had to get Sherlock out of the nightmare. He set his hand on the detective's shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"Come on, Sherlock. Please wake up," John said.

John felt a fist connect with his jaw, but he had been ready, his muscles tensed in preparation for the attack. He felt a flash of pain tear through his face, but he stayed upright, hands shaking Sherlock.

"Sherlock, wake up," he said, his mouth tasting metallic. Something warm dripped from the corner of his lips, trailing down his face. He knew without looking that it was blood.

"Sherlock!" John was shouting himself now, pulling the man into a sitting position in one final effort to bring the detective out of it.

Sherlock's eyes flew open, and he looked wildly around him, breaths coming in huge sobs. Slowly, gradually, he became aware of John sitting in front of him, hands holding him up.

John was about to say something comforting when Sherlock pushed him away, bolting out of the room like a frightened animal.

"Wait!" John exclaimed, catapulting to his feet and following the detective down the hallway.

Sherlock bolted into the bathroom and slammed the door in John's face. The lock clicked in place.

XXXXX

Sherlock could feel his captor's hands on him, shaking him, yelling at him. He tried to struggle away, tried to push himself to the corner of the room, but he couldn't move.

He screamed as pain laced through his shoulders. It must be the whip again, his brain supplied him. Something was binding his feet, but his hands were unbound. His fist flew up and his hand connected with warm flesh.

He could hear someone shouting his name, not the fake name he had supplied to his captor, but his actual name.

"Sherlock!"

He peeled his eyes open, trying to see who was holding him in the darkness. His vision adjusted and he could just make out the worried expression on John's face, the trail of blood running down his jaw.

Something rose in his chest, consuming him in a blaze of red, making his chest constrict against his will and his breath catch somewhere deep inside him. He couldn't think.

He bolted.

XXXXX

"Sherlock, open the door!" John said, tapping his knuckles against the white wood. He could hear the sound of retching from behind the closed door.

John glanced behind him to see Mary standing in the hall, her blonde hair tussled. She flipped on the light nodding to John sadly and walking out of the room. John could hear the sound of glasses clinking as Mary began preparing tea.

"Sherlock, please open the door... We need to talk about this," John said.

"Go away!" Sherlock's voice cracked on the words.

"No, Sherlock... Just open the door," John said. "I am not going to leave until I am sure you're okay."

"Just... leave!" This time it was a snarl.

"I can help you," John said, his voice softer.

"I... I don't need your help." The sentence was interrupted by a sob, and John pressed his hands to the door, as if trying to get as close as he could to his friend to comfort him.

"Sherlock, either way, I will get into this room, whether I have to break down the door to get to you. I know you may not want my help right now, Sherlock. But you need my help. I know what you're going through," John said. There was complete silence on the other side of the door. "You feel hot, but at the same time you feel cold. Something has a hold of your heart, squeezing it and making your chest feel tight. You can't get a full breath and you feel dizzy."

Silence.

After a long moment, there was a click of the lock unlatching. John's hand went to the knob, swinging the door open.

The light was flipped on in the bathroom, illuminating the white tiles and the blue shower curtain. The tap was on, cold water splashing into the porcelain sink. John twisted the water off, looking down at Sherlock.

The man sat on the floor next to the sink, his knees drawn up to his chest, face buried in his hands.

John sat next to him, his shoulder brushing Sherlock's trembling form.

"Thank you for opening the door," John said softly. There was no answer, but John was not expecting one. He could feel the man's breath speeding up next to him.

"Sherlock," John said, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I need you to look at me... I can help you if you just look at me."

Sherlock looked up from his hands, still breathing as if he had just run a marathon without stopping for a break. His face was damp and pale, eyes red rimmed.

"Good... that's good..." John said. "Do you feel well enough to come out to the sitting room?"

"I'm not a child," Sherlock said weakly, his voice sounding hoarse. Despite this, he let John help him to his feet and down the hall to the sitting room.

John sat his friend on the couch, looking up when Mary stepped to the threshold of the room, two mugs held in her hands. John held up his open palm, signaling her to stop for a moment. She just nodded and stood still, steam rising from the mugs.

"Mary is going to come in and give us some tea now..." John said, sitting down next to Sherlock.

The man was tense when Mary stepped into the room, his eyes following her path over to the couch. She handed both the mugs to John and the blogger flicked his eyes back to the door, signaling her to leave.

She showed no sign of anger at the dismissal, just slowly headed to the door, leaving the two alone on the couch.

John handed the tea to his friend, watching as he took a few sips. The detective's hands were shaking as he tried to hold the cup steady, tea splashing over his hands. The warm, brown liquid trailed down Sherlock's hand and dripped onto his arm. If it burned him, he didn't seem to notice, continuing to sip his tea in silence.

"We should really talk about this," John said.

"I don't need to talk," Sherlock responded.

"Believe me, Sherlock, it helps. It may not feel like it at the time, but talking really does help... You don't have to tell me everything right now, but..." John trailed off, letting the silence fill in the rest of his sentence.

But I need to know what happened.

But I need to know how I can help you.

"Ok," Sherlock responded. "I... Ok..."

John looked at his friend with mild shock. He shook off the feeling, offering a comforting smile to his friend. "I'm ready whenever you are, Sherlock."

And then Sherlock began to talk.

**TBC**

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**A/N: Poor, frightened Sherlock... I feel so bad right now... I just want to hug him and take him home with me... XD I know he was a bit OOC, but remember, he was tortured. That will do a lot to a person... He has changed over the last two years he was away and that is what this story is about. **

**I hope you all enjoyed the chapter and I would love to hear your thoughts. Please do me a favor and leave a review! XD **

**Live long and prosper! **

**-Dawn **


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